Dear Galahad
by Rodidor
Summary: Belle finds herself given the once in a lifetime opportunity to become pen-pals with one of the knights of the Round Table. As they both get older, feelings grow. There's just one obstacle they face: Time. Rated T for now. Experimenting. Give it a shot.
1. Chapter 1

Hello. So, here's another Galahad pairing fanfiction. He just does not get enough love in my opinion. This story is written in a totally different form. It's an experiment of sorts. It's loosely based off of "The Lake House" film. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I only own Belle and she doesn't even like me.

~~Dear Galahad~~

Dear Reader,

This story is a complicated one. It may not make sense, but I hope you enjoy what I have to say. If I am to be completely honest, you should not be reading this. I doubt, however, that you could tattle even if you wanted to. This is my story. My life. I want it to be known, despite what Galahad says.

We will begin at the cottage.

The cottage was a favorite summer location for my parents. It was deep in the countryside and allowed for an escape from the city life. Well, not a total escape, we were constantly connected to the Internet thanks to my parents' work.

Weeks at the cottage were times of learning and exploration for me. It was close to the Wall where my papa conducted his studies. He was a well-respected Arthurian scholar who loved to spend time near the wall to try to connect to the possibly mythical king. My papa was sure that Arthur was alive at some point during its erection.

He constantly reminded me that he wished my name were Elaine, but my mum would not allow it. I'm eternally grateful for that. The Lady of Shallot was not a particularly charming poem. So, my parents settled on naming me for La Belle et La Bête, Beauty and the Beast. You guessed it! My name is Belle, Belle Anders that is.

My parents could not be more different. My mum was from Trinidad. She came to Britain to get a degree in Music at Oxford where she would later teach. That's how she and my dad met. He was an older, tenured professor and she was this young spitfire ten years his junior. Papa says he was immediately captivated.

Sorry to digress. I love the story of my parents, but that can be told at another time. Where was I? Right, the cottage. The year I was to start the sixth grade, my father was given leave for sabbatical to finish his latest book on Arthur. He was writing in particular about one of the fortifications along the wall and the Roman rule of Britain. It was a very broad topic, especially for someone in his field. People wrote books about swords, pieces of armor, even currency. He was making a jump that could break him.

So, naturally my family packed up our clothes and put the dog, Merlin, in his kennel. We immediately headed to the cottage that would house us for a year. I knew that my parents intended to home school me. I was not upset, because my friends were all headed to private school while I was going to public (Consider the British school system not American).

That just reminds me of the time I told Galahad that I was unfeeling about leaving all of that behind. He was shocked. He couldn't understand that it was not such a big deal. Then again, he hates moving because they made him move so far from home.

Getting off topic again, sorry. After we had been there for a week, I decided to explore the basement. I found mostly nothings, an old typewriter, some moth bitten blankets, and other odds and ends. What stood out to me was a tapestry. It was of a man on a hill facing a field of his enemies alone. I should have immediately called my father to look at it. I don't really know why I didn't. It was just as damaged as everything else in the room if not more.

In one of the many holes on the tapestry was a scrap of parchment. It was probably just as old as the tapestry too. I tugged it out, sneezing from all the dust that had dislodged and saw a strange drawing of a horse. I took it to my room and stored it in my bottom drawer. I could not help but wonder who would put a picture in the wall.

I got up early the next day and finished my lessons before noon. When my parents were busy, I walked back down to the basement and stared at the tapestry more. I was taking in the details when I noticed that there was a new piece of parchment in the hole. It was of a room with three beds and one small window. The walls were stone and there was a rag of a rug spread on the floor. I stored this picture in my room as well.

That night I told myself that if I found another picture I would try to send something through. Just for the fun of it you see. The next morning, I went through my usual routine of doing my work before rushing down to the basement. Low and behold there was another parchment. This drawing was of the crevice with pieces of paper sticking out of it. It seemed that it was behind something. I was confused. There were marks on the paper as if the person was trying to say something.

It was my next action that changed my life forever. I wrote the word "hello" in as many languages that I could think of and pushed it into the crevice.

I sat there fore twenty minutes waiting to see if something would happen. Right as I was losing hope, my parchment disappeared. It returned ten minutes later with the Latin circled. I still to this day think that Galahad must have run to someone who knew how to read to translate it for him because he returned the paper with a hand drawn and a scroll covered in squiggles and scratches.

You're probably bored with me now, wondering when all of the exciting things happen. I ask that you understand that I was in a strange predicament myself. I was a eleven years old and I discovered a magic bloody hole in the basement wall. I was old enough to know better than to tell my parents, and young enough to find it utterly exciting.

I spent the rest of the year from that point onwards teaching my, then unnamed, pupil how to write and read. There was a lot of picture drawing back and forth, though he was a much better artist than myself. For every object he drew, I would send the Latin word for. That's the joy of having a classicist for a father. You got to learn dead languages. He wrote out the alphabet every day. He drew a fire and papers burning to let me know what he did after lessons. I was too busy to really care why at the time.

You may wonder why I never actually stopped to wonder why there was a person who did not know how to read communicating with me through a wall. Easy. I was eleven years old and kind of idiotic. Plus, there were no kids my age around to hang out with. This was my entertainment.

It was nearly a month before he learned how to write the Latin equivalent of his own name. Two more before he could form rudimentary sentences. The more time passed, the more I dreaded leaving the cottage. I finished the schoolwork for the year early and excelled in my exams. I made sure to keep up with my hobbies to avoid the suspicion of my parents. I dedicated a lot of my free time to drafting up lesson plans for Galahad. I needed it to last until we would return during one of my holidays.

I worked really hard to keep my Latin skills up to par to be able to teach him. I made grammar texts and picture glossaries.

It was insane, and fun, and exciting. It was also over as quickly as it started. Not knowing how else to explain it, I wrote him a letter saying that I would be gone for a few months. I poked each piece of paper through the crevice: the letters, the lessons, everything.

Year seven was a blur for me. My drive the previous year had been so well used that I was ahead in my classes in both subject matter and work ethic. Papa was especially pleased with my work and I worked to convince them to home school me. I leaned on the fact that I could finish all of my schooling early at the rate I worked.

Part of me just wanted to get out of that school. It was filled to the brim with snobby, wealthy students that I had no way to connect to. My parents wanted me to try to make connections, but it was obvious I was miserable. Private school was out of the question. So, after much arguing amongst the two of them and deliberation, mum and papa decided that I could be homeschooled. There was the stipulation that I must return to the school for my final year of high school. They also said I needed to try harder with my classmates for this final year.

I joined the girls' football team and barely made the cut. I practiced hard to become a better player and grew a fondness for my teammates. I had been so wrapped up in this, that I nearly forgot to make new lessons for Galahad when I got back.

Teaching Galahad convinced me that I wanted to teach for the rest of my life. I took such joy in preparing lessons for him. My days were split between football, school, and lessons for him and I loved it. I will admit that the winter break was a needed reprieve. I was busier than any twelve year old should have been.

Galahad had written me one letter in my absence without me there to guide him through it. His language had improved vastly and even incorporated things that I had not yet taught him. I was confused until I read this paragraph:

"They know. They saw me reading and I was punished." Punished was spelled wrong but I did not care. I was too worried for him. "Arthur said he learned me. Now, he teaches us all with your lessons. I would not betray you. It is my fault because I stopped putting fire to the papers."

At this point, you may wonder why I did not try to alert someone. Well, I did. I blocked my house number and tried to tell the authorities that there was a child being abused. But, with no address or name, and sounding like a child myself, they ignored my claims. They even chewed me out for playing a prank.

I frantically wrote Galahad asking him where he was. His response was, "The Wall with the Romans." Suddenly, it clicked. I thought Galahad just had Arthur fanatics for parents too. Yet, I noticed that he used the name Arthur and could not be too far from where I was. He used Latin a little differently. Plus, where else would his conditions not be considered child abuse?

I knew that the crevice was some sort of strange magical anomaly thing, but I did not consider time travel to be a possibility. I did not respond to that final message for a day. I was unsure how to react.

Eventually, I sent a message telling him that we would continue lessons for him and his brothers. Arthur taught them while I focused on Galahad who was far beyond them. We started to share stories with the knights. I would make them up, while Arthur would pick some from The Bible. My stories were more popular with the knights.

By the time break was over, I could write Galahad a goodbye note in more than child level Latin. Once we had gotten beyond the point of needing pictures, he picked the language up quickly. I did not have to worry about teaching, and could spend my time getting to know him. I do have to say that he did a lot to improve my fluency with the language.

Now reader, I will stop this letter here. I want you to know that I will continue my story by sharing the letters with you. Some were lost, others burned, and some spread out over so long a time that it couldn't be explained. I will try to fill in the blanks for you.

For now, goodbye,

Belle Anders

And thus ends chapter one. None of the letters will be as long as this one hopefully. They will be updated as one letter per chapter, from one of our main characters. Other characters will be mentioned and may even write a little. Review. Criticize. Tell me what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

Here's chapter two!

Dear Galahad,

I will be turning 14 years old this week. Well, you call it 14 springs. No, I am not getting married soon. People do not marry so young in my time. I have finished middle school yet!

Also, do not bring up my being an educated girl anymore. Things have changed over time. Stop being such a discriminate man. It does not become you well. I know things are different. Considering, however, the fact that we communicate through a magic portal, I do not think it prudent for you to comment on education of all things.

Now, I have been thinking about how you have been doing. The last mission you went on was rough. Is Percival faring well? I am sure Gawain is still at his side. I wish I could send well wishes, but it is best that we keep me a secret for a while.

I wish I could help in some way. The instructions I gave you were the best I could come up with. That took a lot of searching to find. Were you able to sneak in and apply the medicine? I hope it was not too painful, but it makes infection something we do not have to be concerned with. No, I did not get it from a witch. Do not ask me that again.

You should read him the story about the dragon I wrote for you all while he sleeps. He might like that a lot. I heard people can still hear when they are sleep in that way.

I am trying to write a new collection for you over the next week so that you can enjoy them until I return from vacation. Living in the cottage has taken its toll on mother and she is ready to visit her home again.

I like the island. I get to see my cousins. They always ask me to talk so that they can listen to my accent. They call me tea because that is all they know about Britain. It is unoriginal, but endearing nonetheless.

I connect with them more than my family here. They are not as aloof and truly find interest in me. My favorite is my cousin Nico. He always asks about school and my activities. He cooks breakfast with me every morning and teaches me to dance. He makes me embrace that part of myself.

The only place I love as much as that island is this cottage. That is greatly due to your being here. I wish that there were another way for us to talk when I am not here. I am sure that it has everything to do with this tapestry, but moving it is too risky. What if the tapestry lost its connection and we could no longer talk? That would not be worth the trouble.

I am going to end here because mother wants me to finish preparing. I will be back in a few weeks. We spend much longer at the cottage now that I work with private tutors. So, we will still have time to talk when I return. Enclosed at the stories for you to share.

Be safe on your missions.

Your friend,

Belle


	3. Chapter 3

Letter From Galahad

Dearest Belle,

The poultice you told me to make for Percival worked wonders. I wish you could be here to heal him yourself, but I understand that is not possible. Gawain has kept a constant vigil at his side, but was forced to move when Arthur grew concerned for his health. That was when I was able to go in.

I will not ask if a witch gave you that potion, but I am still suspicious. If I did not know better, I would accuse you of being a witch. I am only jesting Belle. You know much and have many skills. I feel like you are just as magical as this wall we communicate through.

You say your mother is from some exotic Western land. It must be so lovely to be able to relax in the sunlight. This cursed island is hardly ever sunny. It is grim and dark. It is constantly foggy too.

I just think of my home. It was vast and green with rolling hills and sunlight. Green and yellow everywhere during the spring. You would find my home just as beautiful as your mother's but in a different way. There was not sand, no ocean, but valleys and flowers.

Your drawing is much better now. Perhaps you could draw a picture of the place you are going to for me? I am curious about what it looks like. Unfortunately, my imagination suffers from lack of creativity. My world of knowledge lies in Britain, Sarmatia, and you.

That reminds me, would you draw a picture of yourself for me? I cannot imagine what you must look like. You do not have to, but I would like to have a face to your name. I could draw one of myself for you!

I digress. Belle, our friendship means a lot to me. It is rare to find someone so understanding and open to call friend, my brothers aside.

Your intelligence is the greatest quality you have. If we were to lose our connection, it would be painful for both of us. So, do not move the tapestry unless you find another way. I have faith in your intelligence. It is selfish of me to say that, because of how much you have already done for me. Since we know so little, I feel that this is the best choice.

Happy Birthday Belle, I hope you have the greatest joy in reaching 14 springs. I am now 15 summers soon to be 16. Had you been here and I not been a slave, we would be expected to start taking our place in the community of the wall and start families.

If I survive these last ten years, perhaps it will be an option for me to return home.

Be well my friend,

Galahad.

Review! Tell me what you think. Any suggestions?


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